


Garden of Flowers

by DeiraMarceline



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV Queer Character, Queer Themes, Queerplatonic Relationships, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:20:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeiraMarceline/pseuds/DeiraMarceline
Summary: Petunia tries to break down the walls between her and her sister, only to find that she gets much more than she bargained for. Suddenly finding themselves stuck in almost two decades in the future, what're two witches to do? Queer folk a-plenty. A few characters who might be cis in the original books are trans in this story. Reader discretion is advised.
Relationships: Petunia Evans Dursley & Lily Evans Potter, Petunia Evans Dursley & Luna Lovegood
Comments: 5
Kudos: 30





	1. The Crumple-Horned Snorcack

Petunia and Lily Evans were always the best of friends. They were nigh inseparable. That all changed the fated day that Lily Evans received her invitation to the _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_. It didn’t go to shit immediately at first – it was the little things that clued Petunia in that something was wrong. She started spending more and more time with that Severus Snape boy and she always had this wistful, far-away look in her eye whenever talking about going to Hogwarts. She was so excited to go to that school. She was so excited to leave boring, plain, mundane Petunia behind.

Lily was a witch now, don't cha know? Upon her broomstick, she was far above the puny mortals from which she came. Mummy and Daddy were delighted to have a witch in the family, so delighted that their little daughter was so special. Mind you, they still had that one older daughter who wanted to go to med school. That was fine with them, but it was nowhere near as exciting and _magical_ as a witch in the family!

It was the most peculiar thing when Petunia discovered she could use magic. It was completely on accident at first, but she learned to hone her skills and craft through years of subtle use. She didn’t need Hogwarts and she sure as hell would not end up like her sister.

It was Summer and Lily had just gotten back from her fifth year at Hogwarts. The little girl so giddy at the prospect of the magical world had blossomed into a beautiful young woman. Not at all like her dear old sister. Her sister, though just a year older than her, was unimaginably repulsive. Her neck, though slender, was almost comically long. The incessant teasing from the more distasteful girls at school did not help with the constant comparisons to a giraffe. Her figure was no hourglass, but rather a pencil gave human form. Her face was plain. That was probably the worst part. Her sister’s face was smooth, round, and magnificently framed by her flaming red hair. Petunia, on the other hand, had boring brown hair and a face that the boys would not look twice at.

This Summer, there was something about Lily that had changed. She didn’t talk much. She usually babbled on and on about how much fun she had at school with her friends (without Petunia). Not this year. She was unmistakably quiet and subdued and Petunia had had just about enough!

“What is with you, Lily? You’ve barely spoken a word to me!” Petunia’s lovely, musical English lilt mixed with her frustration and made her come off as much more emotional than she intended. She was emotional, obviously, but _Lily_ wasn’t supposed to know that.

“What does it matter? It’s not like you care one way or another.” Lily’s words are antagonistic, but her tone conveys a deeper sorrow that Petunia is able to pick up on. Must be a magic thing.

“Whatever gave you that idea?! Of course I care, Lily, you’re my sister! Sure we haven’t been the closest recently, but that doesn’t mean you don’t matter to me. Please don’t shut me out!” Petunia responds passionately, pleading and trying to knock some sense back into her little sister, but Lily just won’t budge.

“You wouldn’t understand, ‘Tuney. They hate me for what I am. Things I can’t control.” Lily suddenly freezes up as she sees Petunia’s blank stare. “Oh I am so sorry, I didn’t mean _that_. Of course you would understand, how could I be so stupid?” Lily’s older sister eases up.

“It’s all right, Lily, you can talk to me. You can trust me.” Petunia puts as much effort into putting her sister at ease as possible. Their personal issues be damned, she would not let her sister cry because of some magical nobodies.

And Lily does ease up and trust her sister. Slowly but surely, she lets out the pains of the past year with tears and sobs. The loss of her friendship with Severus Snape ( _Good riddance_ thought Petunia, but she held her tongue in lieu of an upset little sibling), the rise of what sounded suspiciously like Wizarding Nazis (they were called “Death Eaters”, which sounded pretty lame if she was being honest), and the increasingly hostile atmosphere from her peers at school due to the previous. All in all, it did not sound like Lily Evans was having the best time at school and Petunia was once more glad she kept her _talents_ to herself. It sounded like the Wizarding World didn’t want her and she didn’t want any part of that rubbish. Petunia listened patiently, keeping her opinions to herself, and just holding on to Lily, afraid to let her go.

They say it is in times of extreme emotional peril when a young magical is at their most powerful. This is not entirely true. In fact, any strong emotion will do. In the case of one Petunia Evans, the love she felt for her sister, her desire to protect her, and joy at finally reconnecting and repairing a relationship that had been left like an untended garden for far too long was catalyst enough for Petunia Evans’ innate magical ability to go wild, having unforeseen consequences. There is a reason that magical children are sent to school from the age of eleven years, for otherwise, their magic can go haywire to much the same effect that Petunia’s did just then.

The two sisters let each other out of the heated embrace and looked around them. They, both being magical, sensed immediately that something was very, very wrong. The room they were in, Lily’s bedroom where Petunia had initially approached her, was very different. Instead of the tidy room with the flower-themed décor that mother had thought apt for her youngest daughter, there was an unkempt room painted blue and covered with posters for bands they had never heard of. The most startling thing about their location, however, was not its appearance, but its contents. This consisted of one very confused boy playing guitar, distortion turned way up, jamming power chords to a song that neither of the girls recognised.

For a minute, the two factions stare at each other in silence. The last chord that the boy had picked died out as he looked between the two and shrugged, then holding out his hand.

“Oi, hello! I’m Silas. Might I ask what you two lovely ladies are doing in my room?” He waits expectantly, waiting for one of the two sisters to grab his hand and shake it. Eventually, Lily puts out her hand in hesitation and he shakes it in his own firm hand.

“Brilliant!” He exclaims, then a serious look comes upon his face. “Oh, how rude of me. Does either of you want any tea? We’ve also got coffee if either of you is into that sort of thing.” Lily and Petunia take a moment to gather their bearings before deciding to roll with whatever seems to be happening. It probably wouldn’t help much to cause a ruckus with the boy who seemed so clearly to be treating them with great hospitality.

“I think we’ll both take tea, thank you very much.” Petunia is the first of the two to speak, taking charge out of a sense of duty, being the eldest and all that.

“Wonderful, wonderful. Come, follow me and tell me about what circumstances led to you two witches appearing in my room.” He pauses, “You _are_ witches, right?” Petunia hesitates, before answering.

“Umm, yes we are.” In an attempt to prove her point, she makes a small ball of light appear in her palm and dance in and around her fingers. Lily stares at her in shock before recovering and sending her a murderous glare. _We are definitely talking about this later_ , it seemed to say. Petunia sends her a half-arsed smile and she begins to trail behind Silas for some tea that she so desperately needs.

They find themselves seated on chairs across from the oddly bubbly teenage boy, each holding a glass of tea in their hands. Some chocolate chip cookies are in the centre of the table. Petunia eyes them lustily, she never could resist quality baked goods. Silas seems to notice this.

“I baked ‘em myself.” He seems very proud of his handiwork, giving her an offer to take as many as she wants. Petunia, not wanting to appear rude, takes only one despite what her stomach tells her. “Anyway, are you two going to explain now? I am patient, but I’ve not got all day.”

“I think we’re just as confused as you are, if not more so. We just kind of… appeared.” Lily’s tone expresses her utter confusion for the situation, as reasonable a response as any to appearing in the middle of a boy’s room. Petunia, however, gets more to the point.

“How did you know that we were magical?” Silas takes this question in stride, probably having expected it since the moment he had pointed out that they were witches.

“Why, that’s probably the most simple thing in this entire conundrum, innit?! My mum’s a squib. She married a muggle that she met at university and then they got married and had me.” Silas explains it as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Looking back at the situation, Petunia thinks that he may be right: it likely _is_ the simplest thing about this whole conundrum.

Petunia, however, did not have the benefit of hindsight nor the advantages of the Wizarding education her sister was afforded. Sometimes, we all fail to grasp even the most mundane of things without adequate prior knowledge. While Lily shrugged and nodded in understanding, Petunia had a question: “What’s a squib?”

The other two teenagers start speaking at once, making a cacophony of their two voices. They both realise what they’re doing and zip up, blushing all the while. Their next attempt proves more fruitful, with Lily giving her elder sister a crash course on squibs and magical genetics. Petunia loses track of her her about halfway through the explanation. Lily Evans was always one for long-winded explanations that did more to satisfy her own intellectual ego than the curiosities of those around her. Noticing that Silas and Petunia don’t seem to be much interested in her impromptu lecture, she slows to silence as her cheeks redden to a colour only slightly less brilliant a red than her hair. Petunia breaks the silence, being ever so pragmatic.

“So where are we? I want to know how far we’ve travelled from home?” This takes a minute for Silas to process, him not being one to bother remembering what his address is.

“Oh, right! Let’s see… Number Nine Cedar Lane, Winchester.” Each word is like an arrow into the hearts of the sisters.

“W-what?! Is this some sort of joke?” Silas is, understandably, quite confused at Petunia’s reaction. It did not seem at all proportional to the information he had just imparted upon them.

“Is there something wrong with that? It’s just an address.”

“Just and address- just an address?! That’s _our_ house! This is _our house_!” Petunia panics. What is this supposed to mean? What is going on? Lily, on the other hand, is almost eerily calm. Her gaze is fixated upon the newspaper on the coffee table in the centre of the three. The paper is for August 31, 1994. Everything clicks into place.

“Petunia? What year is it?” Petunia rolls her eyes at the question, then answers.

“Why, 197- oh. No. No, no, no. No, no, no, no, no. I did _not_ sign up for this crazy, magical, time-travelling nonsense! Why couldn’t this be a sensible magical journey?” It’s difficult for them all to come to terms with what is now their new reality almost two decades away from where they had left the world behind. Silas seems to have picked up on what’s going on as well, but taking much more in stride than his female counterpart.

“Time travel, eh? So I suppose this used to be your house after all. Now, I’m no expert, but I think you should check what’s happened to your future selves. Some weird hunch tells me that whether you return to your own time or not depends entirely upon whether time is looped so that you’re meant to travel into the future and then return to the past, you’ve split into two versions of yourselves that exist independently of each other, or you disappeared a while ago and have been declared missing.” That did not sound promising. Only two of those options would result in Lily and Petunia Evans returning home to 1976.

Both the sisters stare at him, a mix of shock and awe present on their faces. On Petunia though… is that excitement? Petunia, you see, had her own escapist fantasies as opposed to the magical realism of her sister’s schooling. Ever since Lily had left her for greener pastures, Petunia had immersed herself in all things science-fiction to get away from the cards life had dealt her.

“Bloody hell... Is Doctor Who still running?” Silas’ eyes lighten up in recognition.

“Why yes, it is! In fact, Star Trek also recently wrapped up if that might interest you.” Petunia takes a minute to realise what Star Trek is.

“You mean that serial back from when I was a kid? Tell me more.” And so begins the saga of Petunia and Silas geeking out over their newfound, shared obsessions with sci-fi television and other assorted media. Lily, one of the uninitiated, stands there dumbfounded as her sister and a boy they’d just met ramble on and on about Muggle media. How they were able to bridge a gap spanning 18 years was beyond her, but part of her was just happy to see Petunia in her element. This was a side of her big sister she had seldom seen since going off to Hogwarts, and she was all the gladder to witness it now.

┼┼┼

Luna Lovegood was having a lovely time with her father Xenophilius Lovegood in Sweden. There was, of course, the approaching matter of the anniversary of her mother’s death. That always puts her and daddy in the worst of moods. Luna, being the dear, loving daughter she is, had her heart set on finding a real Crumple-Horned Snorcack to help cheer her father up. The matter, of course, was how on earth to find one.

Luna knew that Crumple-Horned Snorcacks were real. Mum was a contemporary of the renowned Magizoologist Newt Scamander and had inherited his field journals in his will. The entry on Crumple-Horned Snorcacks was sparse, the only concrete information being that they lived somewhere “up North”. The description of what they really looked like was vague; there was not much to go on, but Luna Lovegood is a determined lass who would stop at nothing to have her way.

The only signifier that you had found a CHS (a Crumple-Horned Snorcack to those uninitiated in the ways of Magizoology) was the feeling of abject terror and despair that you would feel whenever one was nearby. Newt had posited in his notes that the CHS was actually a distant relative of the Dementor or had developed the ability to mimic a facsimile of its aura as a defence mechanism against potential predators.

Luckily for Luna, she had had the pleasurable experience of being close to a Dementor a little over two years back, making her job at least that much easier.

The blonde wears long, warm robes to defend against the elements and any manner of poisonous plants. Sure poison ivy was a nuisance, but venomous unicorn buds were her real concern. Just a scratch and you would lose your memory of the every single Friday you had ever experienced. Luna shudders at the thought.

She is careful to not make a sound, even wearing her Sneakers (specially enchanted shoes with a permanent silencing charm – they cost a near-fortune to craft and buy) for the occasion. She stalks the earth of the Kilsbergen with nimble feet, occasionally stopping to marvel at the elk the region is known for. They truly are magnificent creatures, despite not having a lick of magic about them. Some of the more elite in the Magizoology community might scoff at her admiration of the mundane beasts, but some opinions were just wrong sometimes.

The Lovegood girl eventually happens upon a tree that shimmers curiously. She almost wouldn’t have noticed it were she not wearing her prized Spectrespecs. Nargles swarmed around the tree and gave it a multicoloured sheen, giving the scientifically astute Luna pause. Nargles, you see, are especially known to be present around places and people where emotions and behaviours were drastically addled. If that didn’t sound like the Crumple-Horned Snorcack, she didn’t know what did!

Walking up to the tree, she places both her palms on it to get a feel for it. The Nargles part way to not be crushed by this wayward human’s hands, then titter about her curiously to see what might happen with this unforeseen variable.

All of a sudden, Luna feels cold. Very cold. Colder than it was supposed to be. Her mind does somersaults – fight or flight instincts kick in. Every cell in her body tells her that this tree is bad news. That is to say, this tree was exactly what she was looking for. She palms about the tree in search of some nook or cranny….

“Eureka!” Her proclaimed triumph is not for naught for in her gloved fingers she holds what looks to be a very small Tasmanian devil with one, crumpled horn. The creature, seeing that it has been discovered, changes tactics from exerting an aura of fear to gently nuzzling and licking her hands with like an excited puppy.

“Oh you’re just the sweetest thing, aren’t you?” More a rhetorical question than anything else as she continues, “Daddy will be ever so happy that I’ve found a real, living, Crumple-Horned Snorcack! Actually, why don’t you pose for the camera.” With that, she pulls out a Wizarding camera and snaps the scene of an inquisitive and precocious miniature animal licking her. The moving-picture (not to be confused with Muggle “motion pictures”) immortalises this for the rest of time.


	2. Chrysanthemum

Petunia inspects the shelves upon shelves of comic books before her. Much of what she was reading before seems to have continued, but there were some definite new additions that intrigued her. This “Star Wars” thing seemed to be quite the phenomenon – books upon books with the _Star Wars_ label took their place side by side.

“ I still don’t really understand why you i nsisted on coming here. ” Lily turns to Silas and asks, “This doesn’t really seem to be the best use of our time. We should be getting to Hogwarts as soon as possible!” Silas squints at her, then shrugs, turning to Petunia to see what she would be picking up.

“Found anything you like?” Petunia grins and holds up a stack of floppy comics and one or two trades.

“I’m mostly just trying to catch up on what I’ve missed out, but I did pick up some others that seemed interesting. Are you sure that you’re fine with paying for this?” Petunia seems a little hesitant to be accepting charity from anyone, especially some boy she’d only just met, an attitude that she’s always held. Lily interjects.

“And I’ve told you, ‘Tuney, that my Gringotts account has been sitting and accumulating interest for eighteen years. I can pay him back as soon as we get to Diagon Alley.” Petunia nods,  still unsure of the whole thing. Charity from her sister was still charity, after all.

They exit  _Renee’s Labyrinth_ , the comic book store that Silas had taken them to and which Petunia insisted on hitting up, with Petunia clutching a plastic bag with a couple  of recent issues as well as some trades collecting what she missed over the time jump. Their next destination is  _Gandalf the Grey’s_ , a local pub that was hooked up to the Floo network to make transportation to and from Diagon Alley and Platform 9 ¾ easier for the local Muggleborns. Lily used it herself back in the ‘70s and Petunia had tagged along on occasion to see her sister and parents off when they went to drop off Lily at the station or get some back to school shopping done.

_Gandalf the Grey’s_ , much like the  _Leaky Cauldron_ was invisible to Muggles due to some generous application of a Notice Me Not charm on its perimeter. Lucky for them, what little magical blood Silas had from being the child of a Squib was enough to get him into the pub with no problems. This raised some rather interesting questions about Wizarding genetics that Lily might want to look into in the future.

Pushing open the wooden door to _Gandalf’s_ , they find a rather homey place with a couple of people sitting around on colourful beanbags. One person, being around their own ages, stood out to Lily. This was especially true once she put down the book she was reading to smile at Silas and become him over. He did as beckoned, with Lily and Petunia following suit.

“Sally-Anne! What’s up, you crazy bitch?” The girl, presumably Sally-Anne, stands up and holds out her hand and he grabs it, pulling her into a hug.  Lily 

“ Silas? Hey lad, I’ve missed ya! How was your trip to America?” They speak with familiarity, giving them away as friends.  She notices his two strays and asks, “What’s with the ladies?”

“Oh, them?” Silas had momentarily forgotten that he  had brought along the two, evidenced by a sheepish look towards them. “Just a case of accidental time travel. They need to get in touch with Dumbledore and sort out what kind of case they’ve got in order to figure out what to do next.

_Professor Dumbledore’s alive?_ Lily Evans is most definitely surprised. Albus Dumbledore was very old and it seems that his longevity had lasted him through the years she had missed out on. If he was alive, that would make sorting everything out that much easier seeing as he knew Lily as a student back when she attended Hogwarts.

“I see,” Said Sally- Anne, pondering the situation, then turning to the girls, “What are your names?” Getting introductions out of the way. Smart. Lily takes a moment to  realise that she and her sister w ere addressed, then hastily replies.

“Oh, me? M’ name’s Lily. Lily Evans.” Sally-Anne’s face turns a little grim at the name but refrains from saying anything. “The other girl over here is my sister Petunia.”  Petunia nods politely, her presence then retreating to the background to see what would happen and what could be done.

“Now, you’ve probably gathered from Silas, but my name is Sally-Anne. Sally-Anne Perks. Seems to me like you need my help. I’ll see what I can do, but I haven’t gone to Hogwarts since Second Year. That business with the Chamber of Secrets was just so dreadful so I decided to continue learning Witchcraft under an apprenticeship.”  _The Chamber of Secrets?_ There had been rumors of it being opened a few decades back. The upper-year Gryffindors usually only referenced that old legend to scare off firsties from interacting with the Slytherins.

They go settle at a table to discuss in comfort and the shopkeeper comes up to greet the new customers. He’s a tall man, his aura almost crushing. He wore long, black robes, only making him loom even more menacingly. His w ell-combed hair is slick,  it would almost look professional if it weren’t down to his shoulder.

“Well, what do you children wish to eat or drink?” His voice sounds condescending – like he’s not too fond of children. His gaze falls on Lily and then stops. His eyes are… familiar, but they aren’t anything she’s seen before. They are old. It is as if they have seen hell and lived to tell tales of it.

The man realises that his eyes have been on Lily for too long and he blinks a couple of times as if to shake him from his stupor. Lily is understandably weirded out by this occurrence.

“ Four Butterbeers, please.  Two slices of chocolate cake as well. ” Sally-Anne orders for the rest of them. The man leaves to go get what the blonde witch had ordered, but Lily could almost swear to herself that she could hear the man muttering  a soft “Lily…?” as he walked away.

“Beer? Aren’t we a little young to drink?” Petunia speaks for the first time since they’d entered the pub. Lily  breaks out into a f i t of giggles , forgetting about the oddity from earlier.

“What’s so funny?” Petunia asks, completely seriously. Lily calms herself down enough to explain.

“There isn’t any actual alcohol in Butterbeer, Petunia. It’s just very, very sugary.”

“I thought the stuff was absolutely vile when I first had it,” Silas cuts in, “But it’s  s uprisingly grown on me.” Both Lily and Sally-Anne nod in agreement at that assessment. From thinking it atrocious to becoming fond of it, like vegetables as you grow up (but rather in reverse for such a childish drink as Butterbeer), was exactly the relationship every newcomer to Wizarding Britain experienced with the culturally ubiquitous drink.

Soon enough, Petunia Evans finds a tall glass mug of Butterbeer before her. It looks, in every way, shape, or form, like beer. From its colour to the foam that tops it, it looks like beer. Petunia is almost scared to try it – almost. The temptation to drink something that she knows she will hate is so disgustingly all-consuming and confusing. In a series of bad choices throughout her life, why was this the most daunting of them all?

By some strange warping of reality, Petunia finds herself downing the whole glass. Seconds pass. Then, she coughs something fierce.

“Congratulations sis, you’re a witch!” Lily exclaims, only half-jokingly. She really was happy though, that her sister chose to drink it. Part of her is glad – glad that her sister might want to be part of Lily’s world. After the year she’s had, it meant a lot.

Petunia merely smiles at Lily’s comment.

“It wasn’t that bad, actually.” She says, on the matter of Butterbeer.

“You and your damn sweet tooth, Petunia!” Turning to the others she says, “I once caught her snacking on a jar of sugar cubes. She ate the whole, entire jar!”

“ Hey, it tasted good, alright?” Petunia  raises as a defense . A weak defence. Sally-Anne perks up at Lily’s words.

“Sweet tooth, eh? I simply _must_ take you to Honeydukes, then.” Lily nods in agreement. If there were any place that was probably made for the sole purpose of serving Petunia Evans, it would have to be Honeydukes. The sheer variety of sweets made her stop dead in her tracks the first time she’d been dragged to Hogsmeade by Alice… Alice. _What happened to Alice? Did anything ever come of her and that Longbottom boy?_

┼┼┼

Albus Dumbledore, as one would expect from your typical bearded Wizard-type, was an eccentric and unpredictable man. Like most people, his perspective was limited by his own experiences. He struggled to pull his head out of his own arse when the situation demanded it. Nevertheless, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was still one to go to whenever something particularly peculiar took place. And a particularly peculiar happening it was.

“Professor Dumbledore!” Snape’s head appears in the old man’s fireplace, looking rather more worried than his usual stern demeanour would suggest.

“Ah, Severus, do come in! And how many times must I ask you to just call me Albus? We’re colleagues, now.” As Dumbledore responds, Snape flashes into the Headmaster’s office with the same rigid grace as always.

They find themselves sitting across from each other. Dumbledore, sitting on a seat behind his desk, unwraps some yellow Muggle candy and pops it into his mouth.

“Lemon drop?” He offers, though not expecting Snape to take one.

“Err, no thank you.” Severus’ reply is expected. He clearly had more pressing matters on his mind. “What in Merlin’s name is _Fudge_ thinking?” The Potions Professor’s disdainful emphasis on the Minister’s name is apparent.

“I take it you’ve received word on the upcoming Triwizard Tournament? Yes, I had the same reaction. It is all so last minute and I do not take kindly to the Minister meddling in the school’s affairs. The past couple  of years have taught me that the man’s  interference has done more harm than good.”

“ Mmm, yes. Quite. Those Dementors were most unpleasant.” Snape muses, reminiscing on the past year.  _ So it wasn’t Black’s fault that Lily is dead, but rather Pettigrew’s. The rat better watch his back. Even the Dark Lord won’t stop me from using him as my own personal… lab rat… to test my potions of a more dubious nature on _ .

“Indeed, my dear Severus. Now, the question is: how will Voldemort take action?” Albus Dumbledore looks expectantly at the Potions Professor and double agent.

“Lucius, the fool, would not stop bragging about his involvement in bribing, sorry – _encouraging_ dear Cornelius to announce a new Triwizard Tournament. There’s been talk of using some Dark ritual to create a Homunculus for the Dark Lord to inhabit.”

“This is most pressing, Severus. I’ve not read up on Dark rituals since my time with Gellert, so I have some reading to do to predict what exactly they are planning. For now, just keep watch and inform me of any new developments. Until then, I bid you a good day.”

“There is one more thing, Albus.”

“Yes, Severus?” Severus hesitates.

“Nothing.”

┼┼┼

Chrys Potter didn’t have a name for what they were, yet, but they were hell-bent on finding out. Something told them that Aunt Petunia knew what they were, but she never said anything to indicate such. It was just a v ague feeling – it was all a bunch of vague feelings. Maybe Hermione could figure out. Hermione was the smartest witch they knew.

When they approached their aunt on the matter of possibly visiting friends, they were surprised at the positive response.

“Now, er, these friends… are they _normal_?” A forty-something Petunia asks again to confirm.

“You mean Muggles?” Petunia winces at the word, “Yes, they are. Dentists, actually. I can take the Knight Bu-”

“Stop! I don’t want to hear about your freakish flying bus!” Chrys is dumbfounded that their aunt actually knew what the Knight Bus was, but kept quiet, wary of this newfound freedom being revoked somehow.

“ Anyways, I hope this visit will do you some good. I know you’ve never had m any friends before.” A rare display of affection (or was it concern?) comes from their aunt and they don’t know what to make of it. Not just that, there was always that  _ look _ Aunt Petunia gave Chrys whenever she looked them right in the eyes. Chrys just brushes it off as a weird event in a life which consists of weird event after weird event, mentally shrugging with forced indifference.

Hailing the Knight Bus intentionally turned out to be a lot more difficult than Chrys had initially assumed. The last time, it sort of just… showed up. Actually trying to get it to appear involved just wishing it, whistling, calling out “KNIGHT BUS!” at a volume much too loud for 10:00 PM in suburban England, and a whole host of other things too embarrassing to name. Finally, Chrys just took out their wand and whispered “ _Lumos_.”

In a matter of seconds, the Knight Bus, with Stan Shunpike at the wheel, appeared before them in all its anxiety-inducing, clearly unsafe glory.  The purple, triple-decker AEC Regent III looked as ridiculous and misshapen as always – it seemed there was no way to design a bus with three floors and not make it look utterly stupid. Conscious of this, Chrys themselves felt extremely awkward as they stepped up the steps of the bus.

“Ah, ‘Arry Potter, innit?” Chry s Potter flinches at the  incorrect  name, “Where to?”

“ Umm...” They stop and think for a second before remembering what Hermione said to them on the Express ride back to King’s  Cross.

_ “Just say you need to get to Heathgate and Midway outside the St Jude On-The-Hill Anglican Parish Church.”  _ And Chrys repeats exactly that, thanking Merlin for their memory not failing them on the spot.

“No problem. Just find a seat we’ll be there in a bit.”

That “bit” may have been the most traumatic event of Chrys’ life.  Yes, this includes accidentally killing Professor Quirrell when they were eleven  _ and _ reliving the murder of their mother via Dementors just last year. The Knight Bus really was that horrifying an experience. Words cannot describe the stomach-churning, topsy-turvy, and brain-melting way this bus simply travelled from point A to point B.

Eventually, after what seemed like hours, but in all actuality was only twenty minutes, the bus stopped and the doors opened.

“Oi, Potter! We’re here! Heathgate and Midway!” Insides still uneasy, Chrys attempts to stabilise themselves as they walk out of the bus in a manner one might understandably mistake for intoxicated. However, Chrys Potter was perfectly sober.

Feet finally planted firmly on the ground, Chrys is almost tempted to kiss the earth like a sailor getting his first taste of land after months at sea. From the corner of their right eye, they spot a very familiar-looking mass of brown hair.  _ Hermione _ .

Hermione notices Chrys as well and waves them over.

“Hello, Harry!” Hermione notices Chrys’ unconscious flinch at the name and resolves to ask them about it later. “Come on, my house is right around the corner. How was the bus?”

“Nauseating, Hermione. It was bloody nauseating.” Chrys grumbles out, still suffering from the lasting effects of that freak of nature the magical people of Britain called a “bus”.

Hermione dares to let out a small laugh, seeming much more carefree in that moment than all her years at Hogwarts. Summer break did her disposition good.

“Magical methods of transportation aren’t very pleasant, are they?” Hermione’s rhetorical question is met with a nod of agreement until Chrys remembers.

“Not all of them:  _ The Hogwarts Express _ feels like an actual train.” Hermione just shrug s , a tad miffed that she hadn’t considered the obvious example. They continue along the footpath until they happen about Hermione’s house: the Granger residence.

It looked… normal. Not the sterile “normal” of the Dursleys, but  _ normal _ . Like a family would actually live there. Eat, sleep, laugh, watch a film on the telly. Chrys struggles to hold back a pang of jealousy, then looks up to find that Hermione is already at the door, opening it.

“Well, aren’t you going to come in? My parents have been dying to meet you!”  And all of a sudden, the door is wide open. And all of a sudden, it becomes more real. Chrys’ first real interaction with Muggles outside of the Dursleys. Would they be anything like them: posh and obsessed with “normal”? Or would they be more like the Weasleys: eccentric and loving?

Chrys felt something holding them back… as if the open door was still very much closed. Shaking the feeling, they stepped inside, greeted by Hermione and two adults with inquisitive smiles. The taller one, presumably Hermione’s father, is the one to break the ice.

“So this is the famous Harry Potter our Hermione has been going on about in her letters… What are your intentions towards my daughter?” The question catches them off-guard and heat rises in their cheeks, leaving them nervous and stuttering.

“Umm… uhh...” Seeing her friend’s plight, Hermione – similarly blushing, chastises her father.

“Da-ad!”

“Oh hush, Hermione. You know your father was only joking, right dear?” Chrys hears Hermione’s mother speak for the first time, her voice is stern and steady.

“Oh… yes, of course!  _ Mostly _ .”

“What was that? I didn’t catch that last part.”

“Nothing!”

“ That’s what I thought.”

Hermione still looks a bit flustered, the red still evident on her face, but Chrys can’t help but wear a grin at the exchange they witnessed. Her parents reminded them of Ron’s folks, if maybe a little less eccentric. Tension in their shoulders they didn’t even know was there was released and they let out a quite exhale.

“So would you like anything to eat? I’m sure the trip has left you famished.” Hermione’s mother bears a look of concern  and Chrys only then notices the rumbling in their stomach.

┼┼┼

Hermione leaves Chrys into her room to catch up in greater detail. Upon entering, Chrys finds that their friend’s room – for a great many reasons – was not at all what they had expected. The room, rather unlike the neat and organised Hermione they were used to, was littered with papers, books, pens, pencils, quills, and most surprisingly several musical instruments and corresponding pieces of equipment. Plastering the walls are posters for bands that Chrys didn’t recognise: Death, Crass, the Runaways, and various others. Chrys’ jaw hangs open as Hermione clears out some space for the two to sit down and talk.

“So, Harry… what’s wrong?” Hermione asks, worried. Chrys, however, is still befuddled at the state of Hermione’s room and takes a moment to realise they’ve been asked a question. The use of the name does not slip by their notice and they try to conceal a small wince.

“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, Hermione.” Chrys replies tersely, but Hermione doesn’t buy it. Something was wrong and Hermione, ever-determined, would find out what it was at any cost.

“Are you sure? You’ve seemed off ever since you got here.” Oh yeah, Hermione wouldn’t back down now.

“Even if I did, that’d be none of your business. Don’t push it.” Chrys either doesn’t notice the tears threatening to gush from their friend’s eyes or just plain does not care.

“You’re my guest, but more importantly my _best friend_ , Harry Potter, and I won’t be-” Hermione Granger was really going off now… that is, until Chrys cuts them off abruptly.

“Don’t call me that.” It was muttered under Chrys’ breath, but was uttered with so much intensity that it was as if the very room shook. Hands fly to their mouth as their eyes water up as well. _What have I done?_


	3. In Which Lily Potter Dies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE'RE BACK, BITCHES!

**“In** _**my experience, aspen wand owners are generally strong-minded and determined, more likely than most to be attracted by quests and new orders; this is a wand for revolutionaries.” - From the personal notes of Mr Garrick Ollivander.** _

Hermione found it profoundly difficult to go to sleep that night, her mind running through every possible scenario. All her thoughts were centred around her friend. Not-Harry Potter, if their words were anything to go by. After that, Not-Harry refused to speak another word on the subject and Hermione was forced to give up on her friend for the time being.

_ “Don’t call me that.” _

Replaying what happened in her mind, she narrowed down explanations into a few, most probable ones. Why wouldn’t they want to be called “Harry”? Hermione knew how much feeling connected to their parents meant to her friend. The photo album that Hagrid had given Not-Harry was their most prized possession. Seeing that “Harry” was the name their parents had chosen for them, it would have to be something particularly strong that drove them to reject the name.

“Oh. My. Merlin.” Hermione whispers, coming to one final conclusion.  _ Har- err, Not-Harry, is transgender! _ Only something like gender dysphoria, from what she’d read of it, would create emotions about a name strong enough to cause such distress while still being in the realm of reasonable probability. And Hermione? Hermione was a reasonable girl. Having recently discovered a few things about her own sexuality, she felt it was prudent to learn everything she could about lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender people.

The books about various minorities hadn’t escaped the notice of her parents. She still remembered that one conversation that left her stomach doing backflips from anxiety. Her parents sat her down and asked her about her most recent points of interest, leading her to reveal herself to her parents. To her surprise, they both took it in stride. Apparently, her dad was like her and had actually come out of a serious relationship with another man before meeting her mother.

Aside from learning far more about her father’s love life than she had ever planned, Hermione also learned that her parents would love her no matter what. Something that, the brunette realises, every child needs assurance of every once in a while. After a heartfelt talk and some loving hugs, things quickly returned to normal in the Granger household, but Hermione was now secure in her bisexuality.

Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, her body moved on its own and at 2 o’clock in the morning, Hermione finds herself in front of the door of the guest bedroom. She opens it, careful not to make a sound, then closing the door behind her just as softly. Her friend was sound asleep. The windows were open, presumably to let Hedwig do her hunting and then return, and they let the moonlight in, dimly illuminating the whole room in its glow.

Under the light of the moon, Hermione finds herself staring at the face of her friend. Not-Harry’s mouth is slightly parted, letting air go in and out. Their chest rises and falls in tandem with their breathing. Considering the basic function of the respiratory system, this was not much of a surprise, but it endeared Hermione all the more.

_ Bloody hell _ , Hermione thought, surprising even herself with her language.  _ I-I’m attracted to my best friend, aren’t I? _ The question is more rhetorical than anything else, as Hermione finds she is already well-aware of the answer.

All of a sudden, Not-Harry’s face contorts in fear and their breathing turns exaggerated – as if they were struggling for air. Hermione rushes to their side to wake them.

“Wake up!” She hisses, prodding at them desperately to force them awake. They start mumbling in what seems like a nightmare.

“Please… please don’t hate me… ‘Mione.” And then their eyes open, meeting the tired, wide eyes of whom they were just dreaming of.

“Hermione?” Groggy from just waking up, Chrys is still too tired to speak in sentences longer than one word.

“I could never hate you. Don’t you ever think that I could. No matter what.” Hermione’s red eyes tear up.  _ How could they ever think such a horrid thing? _

“Love you too, ‘Mione.” Chrys abruptly falls back asleep and Hermione’s heart skips a beat or three. She soon finds herself in the enticing embrace of the Sandman as well.

┼┼┼

Lily Evans, like any good witch or wizard, held her wand as one of her most prized possessions. Worth more than any gold or jewels, it was her companion and partner in all that she strived to achieve in her magic. Her wand, like any good witch’s wand, was built to suit her and her only. The Willow wood it was made from… the very branch of the tree it came from. That singular piece of hair from the tail of that particular Unicorn. It all combined into one well-oiled magic machine, working the arcane arts with grace and dignity. Lily Evans, as you may guess, was very proud of her wand.

It was because Lily loved her wand so much that she had made it top priority to find a wand just as well-suited to her sister Petunia as her wand was to her. There was one hurdle, however, that needed to be overcome before Lily could take her sister on a trip to Ollivander’s. And to jump over this hurdle, Lily needed to make a trip to Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

“Your account balance is 27,582 Galleons and 7 Sickles.” Says the Goblin bank teller, causing Lily and her sister’s jaws to come off their hinges. Petunia, though unsure of the exact conversion rate of the Wizarding currency to pounds sterling, had seen one of those large golden coins before and figured 27,582 coins made of gold was bound to be quite a bit.

“W-when was the last transaction made?” Lily asks, attempting to figure out how so much money had gotten into her vault. The teller sorted through a few papers until they found the record of all withdrawals and deposits from the genesis of the account.

“It seems your older self made a withdrawal of 300 Galleons on January 19, 1981. That left a sum total 10,000 to accumulate interest over the past 13 years.”

“My older self?”

“Yes. Your older self had realised that she/you had split into two temporal doppelgängers. One living the life you would have were you not displaced and another being sent years into the future to live another life. Standard procedure dictates that a witch’s vault is a witch’s vault, even if she is split into two people, so she made sure to leave enough for you to get by before she erm… passed away.”

“I’M DEAD!?” Lily shrieks, catching some side-eyed glances from the other patrons. After a good minute of awkward silence, they return to their daily business. Petunia, as one would expect of learning of the death of a sibling, is perturbed by this newfound revelation. She wonders what became of her  _ own _ older self during the time skip.

“Yes, in a manner of speaking.” Answers the Goblin drily. “But she is you, and you are her. You are never truly dead until you die. But ma’am, I’m just a bank teller and have very little experience in these things. You should probably get in contact with some of the few who specialise in Time Mechanics if you’re looking for any concrete answers.”

“Oh, right!” Lily replies sheepishly, “Thank you very much for your assistance…” She takes a second to look at the golden, engraved nameplate on the counter, “Mr Bogrod. I would like to withdraw 500 Galleons from my account if that’s okay.”

“More than fine, Miss Evans! We’ve made quite a hefty profit on interest since your account was left dormant for so long. Just let me go get a bag with a Featherlight charm, that much gold can get a bit heavy.” Bogrod chuckles as if making some joke that Lily and Petunia were not privy to.

The Goblin disappears into a back room behind the counter for a couple of minutes before returning with a nondescript brown sack clutched in the long, narrow fingers of his right hand.

“Here you go, ma’am, and thank you for your patronage. I wish you well, I suspect you’ll need it.” And the Evans sisters went on their way, Petunia finally speaking after being so nervous in front of the Goblin. Bogrod watched them talk animatedly as smiled to himself. Muggleborns were always a delight to work for… so polite. They had none of that idiotic superiority complex the pure-blooded wand-wielders seemed to excrete from their disgusting, human pores.

┼┼┼

Chrys feels warmth and immediately knows that something as wrong. Waking up was always cold, always lonely. They turn their head to the source of this alien warmth to see…

“Hermione?!” Chrys Potter half-whispers, half-shouts as a mess of barely coherent memories of the previous night make their presence known to the teen. Brown eyes open at the exclamation and one Hermione Granger remembers where she is.

“Oh, good morning... umm… what would you like to be called?” She asks her bedmate groggily, not even acknowledging the unusual nature of their location and situation. Chrys freezes at the question, not having expected it.

“I- I don’t know. I’m not even sure  _ what _ I am, let alone what I want to be called.” Chrys is surprised at the words coming out of their mouth, having never spoken of it aloud before. This whole thing is so surreal and their heart races with nervous energy.

“I see. Well, if we’re to have any sort of deeper conversation on the nature of my best friend’s gender identity, I suppose I’ll need some coffee in me first.” Hermione says as she sits upright, stretching her arms and arching her back like a cat before climbing out of bed and off to her own room to brush her teeth.

“Meet me downstairs after you’ve brushed your teeth. I’ll not let you have any cavities in  _ this _ household!” Chrys flushes at having been called Hermione’s best friend  _ twice _ . Oh, they suppose it was rather obvious, as they, she, and Ron have been nearly inseparable since that one Halloween in First Year. Still, Chrys Potter revelled in the warmth and closeness that this bond of friendship brought.

┼┼┼

_ Aspen wood and phoenix feather. _ Petunia Evans gripped her new wand tightly, staring at it with curiosity. Now that she held a wand in her hands, she could see the appeal. That energy inside her, that  _ magic _ which circulated throughout her body and encompassed her very being flowed freely into the object and communed with it. This wand… it was a part of her.

“It’s pretty nice isn’t it?” Lily asks her sister, breaking Petunia from her train of thought.

“What is?”

“This. Us. We haven’t spent time with each other and gone out together in so long. I missed this, I missed you. I missed my big sister!” Lily grew passionate towards the end of her words, stunning Petunia with the reality of what her sister was saying. It was true and Petunia had to admit that it was pretty great. Petunia smiles at Lily.

“I’m not  _ that _ much older than you, Lily.” Retorts Petunia, enticing a giggle out of the younger Evans. Petunia continues with mock-indignation, “And didn’t anyone tell you not to mention on a lady’s age?” This causes Lily to snort and playfully shove her sister. The light banter continues for a bit until the synchronised chorus of the two girls’ stomachs becomes audible.

“We should probably grab some lunch,” Petunia says, “Do you know any good places from when you were last here?”

Lily just shrugs, unsure. Most Hogwarts students didn’t spend much time in Diagon Alley outside of school shopping. Now, if you were to ask her about the best eats in Hogsmeade? That she could do, but the alley was surprisingly alien to her.

“What about that one place? That… that Leaky-something or the other.” Suggests Petunia, faintly remembering when she begrudgingly tagged along for Lily’s first trip to Diagon Alley at the behest of their mother.

“The Leaky Cauldron?” Clarifies Lily, “Yes, I’m sure the food should be alright there as long as we’re not looking for anything too posh.”

“Lily, I’m so starved I could eat a horse. An entire horse. Anything will do at this point.” Petunia remarks.

“Fair enough.” And it was off to  _ The Leaky Cauldron _ they went.

When they entered through the door, the two girls were greeted by the mellow sight of a rustic eatery, dimly lit. One waitress clad in a uniform that looked suspiciously like a dirndl wiped down a wooden table until it was clean enough to eat off of. When she could sight of the two new customers, she beckoned them over with a cheery smile.

“Hello, young ladies! What can I do you for?” She asks kindly.

“Umm, we were looking for some lunch.” Lily supplies, taking the lead.

“Is that so? Well, we’ve got tomato soup, steak, pasta, baked chicken, and Abel makes some of the finest mash this side of London.” The menu was sparse, but it would do. Lily and Petunia discuss among themselves until they reach a consensus on what they’d be ordering.

“Ma’am? We’d like two soups, two chickens, and two servings of mash, please.” Lily politely requests, and the older woman calls out.

“ABEL!” She waits a minute as footsteps can be heard thundering down the wooden stairs in the corner of the inn. A young boy, no older than ten, peeks his head out and calls back.

“YES, MAMA?”

“Fix up these fine young lasses up some soup, chicken, and mash, dear!” She orders in a more normal tone of voice.

“Yes, mama!” He scurries off into a door to the side to get the sisters some food as they settle down at a table and wait for their food to arrive. By the time it does, the door to the tavern opens and a middle-aged man with reddish-brown hair and a casual-looking suit and tie strolls in before stopping at staring at the two girls at their table in astonishment.

“Lily?!” He exclaims, loud enough for both the girls to hear. “Is that you?”

He dashes over to them and then huffs out as he tries to catch his breath. Something told the two sisters that he wasn’t so used to running. Upon closer inspection, Lily does, in fact, recognise the older man.

“Arthur Weasley?” Petunia shoots her sister an interrogative glance, then leans back to watch the scene unfold.

“Dear Merlin, it really is you!” Delightedly the man, Arthur Weasley, scoops up a bewildered young Lily Evans and gives her a bone-crushing hug. He then puts her down and gives her a good, long stare.

“How do you look so young? How are you even alive? What about James?” The ginger rattles off questions one by one until he calms enough to notice how confused the two look. Embarrassed, he apologises.

“Oh dear me, I was getting ahead of myself. I think you have some explaining to do as to how you’re here. I’m sure Albus will be curious as well.” Lily seems a little shell-shocked at that last bit.

“How are you on first-name basis with Professor Dumbledore?” This question allows Arthur to more accurately gauge what’s going on.

“You don’t remember the war, do you? Maybe that’s for the best. Anyway, I must reiterate: how exactly are you here?” His voice takes on a more serious, almost haunted, tone as if reliving bad memories from long ago. The ginger’s words catch Lily’s attention.  _ War? What war? _

“Some sort of accidental time travel from what my sister and I gather. Our magic did something that sent us several years into the future while apparently leaving a kind of replica of us behind to live our lives in our place.” She frowns, not even sure how accurate her own explanation is. It sounds like a lot of impossibility and conjecture.

“Hmm… did you say ‘our magic’?” Arthur queries, “But isn’t your only sister a Muggle?”

Lily shrugs nonchalantly, “Apparently not. Hey, did you know my other self particularly well? I want to know what happened to me/her before I/she died, but the Goblins weren’t too forthcoming with any information if they even had any.”

Arthur winces and clears his throat, “I’m not sure this is something we should be talking about without Albus. I don’t know all the details myself and what I do know… well, I’d rather not spoil your lunch.”

Petunia and Lily are left to stew on that for the rest of the day. It was rather inconvenient that their finding out all pertinent information about their alternate selves seemed to keep getting delayed by something or the other. Inconvenient indeed.


	4. Dobby Is A House-Elf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realise it has been a while since I’ve last updated this story. To be honest, this chapter has been sitting on my computer for a month and I just straight up forgot to post it. I’ve been pre-occupied by school as well as a new fic idea for Adventure Time.

Dobby is a house-elf. Now, a curious reader might ask, what exactly is a house-elf? And for that matter, why on earth in the history of anything would anybody name anyone Dobby? These timeless and eternal questions can be answered rather simply: house-elves are slaves.

The names are designed to be demeaning, every nook and cranny of their existence is built only to destroy any sense of worth these beings feel. Their purpose is to serve, not to feel good.Many of these “house-elves” are resigned to their fate. Over time, as a way to protect their minds from the slow descent into insanity, many of them have managed to convince themselves that they actually enjoy their treatment. That they deserve the abuse for the slightest misstep. That their only purpose was to serve.

This discussion brings us to the matter of Dobby. Dobby – for he knows of no better name by which to call himself – has earned the ire of his comrades in misfortune through his vocal realisation that they were even suffering, to begin with. He was, to the other members of his race, an oddball and radical. His ideas were dangerous and harmful to the welfare of all the house-elves and their masters.

Was Dobby an oddball? Perhaps. He did things that many other elves did not. He did things for his own enjoyment – a concept nigh-unheard of among his kind. He demanded wages and time off in order to support his hobbies. Dobby loved to knit and tend to his garden. His knitting was his own form of revolution. The clothing he made was in defiance to the undignified existence forced upon him and his brethren. His aforementioned brethren found this activity offensive.

Tending to his garden was very important to Dobby as well. He would cultivate all manner of flowers and greens and from rich patches of soil sprung lush and vibrant flora. Roses, lilies, chrysanthemums, petunias, orchids, daisies, and many other varieties of flower provided a swatch of colours that made his little patch of earth look like a rainbow had sprung up from the ground.

Dobby, you see, was afforded a certain amount of prescience that was common among his species. This was what made them such effective servants – they would often get started on a task before even being told to do so. Dobby’s clairvoyance would often whisper to him about destinies, fates, and flowers. He knew of the plight of his beloved Chrysanthemum Potter, the only human who had ever shown him a degree of kindness and had even arranged for him to be freed.

Chrysanthemum did not know their own name yet, which was fine by Dobby. He had yet to discover his own as well. They had helped him and so he would always be waiting to come to their aid. Not as a servant but as a friend.

  
┼┼┼

  
Lily woke up in the arms of her sister in a room she didn’t immediately recognise. Then she remembered that the two had decided to take a room in The Leaky Cauldron for the night. She tried to wriggle out of the embrace of her sister, but to no avail. Petunia’s grip was like iron. Luckily for Lily all her moving about caused Petunia to awaken from her slumber.

“Lily… what time is it?” Lily is finally able to escape her sister’s arms to look at the clock hanging over the door to the room. She reads off the time.

“Eight-thirty.”

Petunia sits upright upon hearing this and stretches her arms above her head in a yawn. After settling down she hops off their shared bed and heads off to the bathroom, stopping before she enters.

“Hey, Lily?” The redhead turns her head to where her sister is standing.

“Yeah, Petunia?”

“Mind if I take my shower first?” Lily hesitates for a moment. She is well aware of how much hot water her sister is capable of using up in one shower. However, she remembers, they are in a magical inn and thus the water should not be an issue if her experience at Hogwarts was any indicator of standard magical plumbing.

“Yeah sure, go ahead.” She finally says. Petunia could practically see the gears turning in Lily’s head and snickers as she enters the bathroom and shuts the door behind her.

Lily is left alone with her thoughts. It was hard to believe that it had only been a day since she and Petunia had arrived so many years into the future. They’d missed out on so much time, so much of their life. And the worst part? It looked like they were stuck there. Any hope they had had of returning to 1976 was dashed when she learned that they had somehow split into two separate versions of themselves during the time jump. It was all a befuddling mess.

The sound of running water from the bathroom peters down and eventually stops. Soon enough the door opens to reveal Lily’s sister drying off her dark brown hair and wearing the spare robes the two had picked up in a hurry the previous evening so as to avoid suspicion when going about Wizarding Britain.

“So, Lily. I’ve been thinking.” Petunia begins and Lily quirks her eyebrows. Go on, her look seems to say. Petunia continues, “Maybe I should change my name. It just doesn’t feel right anymore. Also, ‘Petunia’ sounds really stupid and I have no idea what my five year old self was thinking!” Lily looks at her sister a moment before speaking.

“Y’know, I wasn’t going to say anything but… yeah.” Lily says a little hesitantly and Petunia grins. “So, are you sticking with the flower naming theme?” Petunia contemplates this before deciding.

“Yes. Lily… I know we haven’t been the closest lately and I was so horrible and jealous of you for no bloody reason,” Lily looks like she’s about to interrupt but Petunia goes on, “Despite all that, you’re still my sister and I love you. I decided on my name because of yours and that’s not gonna change now.”

Lily sees her sister’s eyes watering as she speaks and, silently, gets up to comfort. She puts her arms around her older sister and holds her. A peace offering – saying that no matter what, they would never be so distant and cold ever again. That they would always be there for each other.

“You know, sis, it wasn’t all your fault. I went off to a boarding school and started ignoring you for a friend who turned his back on me when I could’ve been trying so much harder with you. I’m so sorry too and I- I should never have abandoned you.”

They hug each other harder, melting into the warm embrace and the love that had been left unacknowledged for years. They were whole.

┼┼┼

Chrys Potter and Hermione Granger lounge in the living room of the Granger residence as Chrys mashes buttons frantically on a SNES controller in frustration as a red-clad Italian plumber repeatedly falls to his death. Their brow furrows in concentration and their palms get slick with sweat which they then periodically wipe on their pants so their hands don’t slip while playing. This is the first time Chrys has ever played a video game.

When Hermione had learned that, while the Dursleys had purchased various gaming systems for their son Dudley, Chrys had still never played a video game in their life she was filled with righteous anger. To her, this was a travesty and she set about to remedy this immediately.

At multiple points in time, Hermione was tempted to provide her own commentary on what her friend should or should not do in the game but thought better of it. Chrys was a tactile learner, as evidenced by their success in the practical portions of magic at Hogwarts and struggles with theory and essays. Chrys was also prideful and rarely ever accepted help, feeling inadequate whenever they did so. As such, Chrys was left to their own devices as they navigated the game.

The clock ticked by and it was soon time to prepare for their guest.

“Hey,” Hermione says, “He’s coming.” Chrys looks up as Mario dies one last time and gets up to switch off the Super Nintendo and television.

“Oh right, I’d almost forgotten. How do you think he’ll take… all of this?” Chrys bites their bottom lip nervously and Hermione looks contemplative before deciding on what to say next.

“I think that he,” She pauses, “He can be difficult sometimes. But whenever you’ve needed him most, he was always there. He may be an insensitive prat, sometimes, but he is reliable.”

Hermione goes over to the fireplace and opens it up. Then, with a little bit of work, manages to light it up. The flame crackles softly and casts warmth on the two friends. They wait.

A head of red hair pokes through the fireplace.

“Oi, Hermione? Harry? That you?” He squints as he recognises his two best friends. Chrys manages to contain their discomfort at their given name. “Oh, never mind. I’m coming through.”

Within a few moments, Ronald Weasley stood before Chrys and Hermione in all his awkward glory. He brushed the soot off his arms and legs, but some still remained on his nose. Chrys gestured to their own nose pointedly until Ron got the hint.

“Hello, what’s up?” Asks a now soot-free Ron. Chrys shrugs shyly while Hermione begins to chatter away at how her summer has been. Ron seemingly tunes out until he sees Chrys and his face becomes awash with concern.

“Oi, Harry. Is everything alright? The Dursleys haven’t been treating you too badly, have they?’ Ron questions his best friend, still remembering those bars on his windows from two years ago. Chrys looks conflicted for a moment before pulling Hermione and Ron to the couches to sit down. Hermione shoots a questioning glance at Chrys before the realisation hits her. Chrys is about to spill the beans.

“So, umm… Ron?” Chrys has his attention now and Ron feels nothing but worry for whatever bombshell is about to drop next. Chrys had, after, neglected to actually answer whether everything was alright or not.

“Yes, mate? You know you can tell me – us – anything, right?” At his words, Hermione attempts to hide a grimace. She fears that the outcome of Chrys telling Ron about their gender status will likely not end well. She can handle the occasional spat with Ron and Harry, but something like this could tear the trio apart. Something like this could lose Hermione’s first-ever best friends.

“I’m not a boy,” Chrys says drily, unable to handle the suspense any longer. Ron’s face was indiscernible for a second before morphing to a huge grin.

“Oh, was that all? So are you a girl… or are you something else?” Ron queries before pausing, “And I’m happy you trust me enough to tell me.” Chrys and Hermione are left speechless. Slowly, Chrys begins to respond.

“So you’re okay with this?” Chrys asks, a little surprised by how supportive and considerate Ron was being right now.

“Of course, why wouldn’t be? You remember Charlie – my brother who works with dragons?” Ron waits for both of his friends to nod before continuing, “Charlie’s also like you, we all thought he was a girl until he told the family a few years back. Came as quite a shock and Ginny was a little disappointed that she’d be the only girl of us.”

Ron’s two best friends take a moment to digest this new information, both of them cautiously surprised by this turn of events, Hermione especially. Seeing Wizarding Britain’s treatment of Squibs, magical creatures, and Muggleborns, Hermione was almost certain that Chrys would face a hard time. Ron, oblivious to the internal turmoil facing Hermione, continues.

“So, mate, I fully support you in this. You’re my best mate even if you change your name, start wearing dresses and makeup and growing your hair out and start taking the potion.” Chrys feels their flush at the thought of presenting more femininely, then pauses at the last part.

“Potion?” Hermione asks, curious as to what that could possibly mean. Ron exhales and goes on to explain.

“I sometimes forget you both grew up Muggle. Charlie takes a potion once every month that keeps his body transfigured long-term and gives him all the, y’know, bits.” Chrys looks excited at the prospect of something like this and leans in to hug Ron. Ron takes them into his arms, surprised. Chrys Potter was never really the most physically affectionate friend.

“Thank you for being my best mate, Ron.” Chrys sees the confusion in Ron’s eyes at the embrace and decides to be a little mischievous. They tilt their head upwards to plant a kiss on his cheek, just to watch his face go red. And it does. Ron’s cheeks turn as red as his hair and he begins to sputter. Hermione laughs. Chrys is happy.


End file.
